crystalline pools of nothings
by mistsplash
Summary: That's the shade of her eyes. :RoseScorpius:


_crystalline pools of nothings_

by mistsplash

* * *

**the last.**

Her eyes are crystalline pools of nothing—a glassy blue of fragility—when she parts with him. She doesn't promise that she loves him, or that she'll come back. She only says goodbye.

He doesn't try to stop her. He knows that she'll leave eventually, no matter what he does. So he acts perfect and tells her that it's all right, that he'll be fine.

In hindsight, he wonders if she really cared about that. She had never been the emotional type of girl, always the bookworm that avoided emotions the best she could. He would know this, of course; he has her memorized.

He still misses her, but he'll never admit that.

* * *

**the second-to-last.**

It's falling apart. _They're_ falling apart.

Ashes of what-used-to-be are beginning to litter the ground around him. He can only watch, feeling like a wizened old man, which he really is not.

She doesn't comment on this, but he knows that she can feel it too. She can feel them breaking apart.

He remembers a time when they were two love struck teenagers, even though those times are gone. Now, it's all engulfed in fire. Resurrection is not possible at this point, not really.

She breaks first.

* * *

**and before that.**

It's quiet—a bit too quiet. The fire is crackling, spreading warmth across his body, but he still feels stone-cold.

He and Rose just had another fight; their little brawls seem to happen often now, more so than usual. It's not something he's proud of.

There are soft footsteps. He turns, and sees a well-shaped, ginger-haired, blue-eyed, tear-stained girl gazing at him.

"I'm sorry," she murmurs, wrapping herself around him and burying her face in his chest. "I love you so much."

"I love you, too, Rose," he mumbles, allowing himself to hug her—but nothing more than that.

It feels like something's missing.

* * *

**previous to that.**

It's a sensation of bliss, where he is now, with her in his arms. Her eyelids are about to close, he can tell, but she's struggling to stay awake.

"Sleep," he tells her.

She shakes her head in protest. "No—I want to stay awake with you."

He manages to chuckle, and she shifts a bit in his grip. "You can do that later. Sleep now, or your dad'll kill me."

"No, he doesn't have to know," she protests, but complies nonetheless.

He smiles, ghosting his lips over hers, and thinks that he wouldn't mind if he had to stay like this for the rest of his life.

* * *

**earlier.**

Perhaps it's childish infatuation. Or perhaps it's a little something called love. He's not so sure, but for some reason, he can't stop staring at the big-toothed Weasley with bushy hair and clashing freckles.

She's not doing anything special, not really. She's just reading a book, chewing on her bottom lip, brushing away that one strand of hair that always falls in her face.

He still can't stop staring, not even when Al nudges him and asks what he's looking at. He shakes his friend off and answers that it's nothing; even though that's pretty much the biggest lie he's ever told—_ever_.

One day, when they're both in Herbology and struggling with a carnivorous plant, he leans over and asks, "Go to Hogsmeade with me?"

She nods slowly, eyebrows raised, before darting upwards to kiss his pale cheek and then diving back down to attack the mass of vines before them.

* * *

**and then their first real encounter.**

"Ouch—watch it," a stern voice says huffily, and he looks up just in time to see a girl around his height glaring at him, her ginger hair wild and unruly.

"Uh, sorry…?" he says, unsure of how to act around this girl. She's obviously a Weasley or Potter, with her brightbright eyes and orangey freckles.

"Just what where you're going," she tells him, still looking miffed as she gathers her books.

"I'll—uh—I'll help you with those," he offers, still cautious.

"No, no," she says, waving a hand at him. "Just go. You've already made us both late."

"Um, okay."

He turns without another word, but he can't help sneaking another peek at the brown-haired girl.

* * *

**now you fast-forward to a time after the last.**

He squints in the daylight, believing very firmly that his eyes are playing a trick on him. "Rose?" he asks softly, unsurely.

"Scorpius," she says simply, awkwardly. She's grown a bit since the last time he saw her, with her hair longer and her features sharper, but it's still the same Rose Weasley. _His_ Rose Weasley.

"What are you doing here?" he asks incredulously—not that he's complaining.

"I missed you," is her explanation.

He should be angry, hurt, upset, but he's not, because she's _here_ with him. She's come back, and it doesn't seem like she'll leave.

Plus, he's too selfish to refuse her anyways.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Um, yeah. Each little section was ten sentences each, excluding the bolded titles. Reviews are love :)


End file.
